Page 9 of Chasing Hope

My strides are clipped as I spin toward the suitcase and the front door, my temper holding on by a thread as it demandsmore.

And that’s when I hear his grating voice.

“I knew you wanted her the moment I met you, Valenti. Clearly too much of a pussy to go after her.” He chuckles dryly. “Enjoy my bitch while you can, because the second I want her back, I’ll fucking own what’s mine. Just don’t bang her up too much. I don’t want a whore.”

The suitcase handle drops from my hand.

I turn, ever so slowly. The rage simmering in my eyes makes the smug smirk on Carter’s face drop, and the depths of hell rumble in my voice as I growl, “What did you just say to me?”

Chapter 4

Evie

NEW MESSAGE

…

How heartbreakingly lonely to realize you have no one to talk to.

“Pathetic,” I whisper to myself, renewed tears filling my eyes as I stare blankly at the new text message I was going to send to…no one.

I don’t know when it happened.

When I let myself disappear into nothing.

How I made Felicity and Carter my entire world.

How I gave them the power to break me so easily.

It’s not entirely their fault, but in this moment, it’s easy to hate them. It’s easy to forget that all those months ago when my memories began to trickle back in, I pulled away. Pulled away from my favorite things, favorite people…pulled away from living.

I’m a shell of who I am.

An uttershell.

Blinking away the tears, I lift my head in time to watch theelevator doors slide open. Matteo steps through, pulling behind him a suitcase that seems about to rip at the seams, but that’s not what has me gasping.

Flinging myself from the car, I rush for him. “Oh my fucking God, did you murder them?” I all but screech, horrified at the blood splattering his arms and chest.

Matteo’s firm yet gentle hand lands on my shoulder, steering me back toward the car. “I didn’t do anything that they didn’t deserve.”

His hand leaves my shoulder as he opens the trunk and places my suitcase inside, but I can’t take my eyes off it. I don’t let him wave my concerns off.

If he’s surprised by my strength, he doesn’t say anything.

Pulling his hand closer, I inspect it. “You’re so lucky it’s off-season. Jesus, Matteo, are you okay? Is it broken? It’s swelling quickly.”

He tries to remove his hand from my grasp, but I don’t let up.

“My hand’s fine. Get in the car,” he says gruffly.

“No.”

He arches a brow. “Now’s not the time to be stubborn.”

“Well apparently I need to grow a backbone because people continue to walk all over me!” I don’t realize I’m yelling until I’m done, my chest heaving.

The frown that creases his brow isn’t new—Matteo’s resting face is always a scowl—but this time it’s different. His eyes are quizzical, and I could swear he can see all the way down to my soul.